The best summer
by HeleneN
Summary: What happens during summer-session form Jakes point of view. This is a "Jake as a boy" story, so if you don't like that, dont read it.
1. Beginning

"That's a cool bike"  
  
I look up, and my eyes connect with the bluest eyes I have ever seen.  
  
"You know, students aren't allowed to have motorcycles," he says.  
  
"Yeah, students aren't allowed to do a lot of things," I have to look away. The feeling that hits me is totally unexpected. I clear my throat as I feel my voice cracking. "Hasn't stopped me yet."  
  
"Well, I guarantee you, if you keep riding around on that hog, someone will. Unless you got an ally. Someone with connections high up. Someone that wants to take a ride on that bike sometime."  
  
Right. I can see where this is going. Of course he didn't come up to me just make an accountancies. Upper class people don't make accountancies that way, they are introduced. He just wanted me to know that he had something on me. But, that is life, isn't it? We don't have friends, we have people that can do us favors, that we step on to reach our destination in life. My mother taught me that when I was eight.  
  
"I'm like a Swiss vault, I can keep a secret."  
  
"Can you?" I reply, and look him square in the face.  
  
Fortunately, we were interrupted by Finn, "no mister", crew-coach-slash-lit- teacher. Good timing. The guy is a total loon. He makes you look at things in a serious, non-serious way, if you get my drift. All the other teachers are pushing a 110% effort at all time, but in Finns classes we're allowed to relax as long as we stay focused and doesn't goof off too much.  
  
Today we had to go through "the swimming portion of our summer curriculum" as Finn called it. That is, we where given the opportunity to go for a swim in the middle of class. Most of the boys already had their shirts off, and went right inn, just their shorts or sweatpants still on. I hesitated but couldn't bring my self to strip down to bare chest and sweats. It's not that I'm conscious about my body. I mean, compared to these crew-boys I know I have inferior upper body strength, there's a reason I'm the coxswain, but I'm not that scrawny for my age. Consuela always comfort me, that boys stretch, then fill out. I guess I've done most of the stretching, but everybody seems to fill out ahead of me. It's just that growing up around the stage I have seen too many actors and dancers been judged solemnly by their appearance and nothing else. Then there's that big-ass scar on my chest. People stare. They don't mean, but they do. So, I started to hide. The less they see, the fewer flaws they can pick on, right? So I only take off my cap. I even leave the bulky hooded sweatshirt.  
  
\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/* \*/*\*/*\*/*\*/  
  
"Hey"  
  
I turn towards source of the noise to identify the person that deem it self important enough to interrupt my quality time with my laptop. Great, it's "mister Swiss Vault".  
  
"Feel free to barge right in."  
  
"Sorry", he indicates the open door behind him, looking rather confused, remembering the unwritten rules of privacy, but not quite sure if he has broken any. I cannot help but to smile at his perplexed look, and he relaxes.  
  
"So, you find a place to stash your bike yet?"  
  
"Well, after six schools you get a handle on these things." As if I ever needed his help!  
  
"Parents move a lot?" It is more a statement than a question, so my response surprises him.  
  
"Nope."  
  
I keep tapping along on the keyboard, partly hoping he will take the hint and leave, partly hoping that he won't.  
  
"Oh. So why would you keep switching?"  
  
"Waiting for someone to notice." I say it like it is the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
"They don't know?"  
  
"Nope. Get inside my mom's email account, send a letter as her, and her attorney wires the money wherever I say. The wonders of the digital age."  
  
"So, that's how you scammed the single room?"  
  
"Scammed the single room? You should see what happens when I hack into your dad's database."  
  
I nod at him, indicating for him to join me at the computer, as I start working my way into the schools database. It is childs play now that I have done it a few times, and I'm in in under 3 minutes. Hamilton looks at the screen in aw. He's impressed, and I feel a tingling sensation of pride in the pit of my stomach. I've never showed off my hacking skills to anyone before. I mean, I've shared experience with people I've met on news-groups and chat rooms, but I never had any real life friends that would even be remotely interested.  
  
We goof around for a while, checking out every students grades. I don't know most of these people, but Hamilton fills me in. Before we know it's dark outside, but we're having too much fun to notice, as we snoop around every nook and cranny of the school database.  
  
"The lunch budget is 86 cents per student? I don't think so." I lean in to do a small correction. It's a good way of getting caught, but this is just too extreme not to be tampered with.  
  
"Wait." I look up at him, and in a mock seriousness he claims, "I think it's only fair that as the Dean's son, I should rectify this."  
  
"All right." I laugh and lean back, giving him access to the keyboard.  
  
He thinks for a while before he states with childlike enthusiasm, "Lobster for everyone," and move the comma two places to the right. Good move. That doesn't really leave a hacker trace as it could just as easily be an original typo.  
  
"You smell good." My heart leaps as we both realize what he just said. "I meant."  
  
"No, it's OK."  
  
"But no, I didn't mean."  
  
"No, really."  
  
There's a light knock on the door and Finn peeks in.  
  
"OK, boys. Lights out. Hamilton, you should head home."  
  
Saved by the bell. Or by Finn, anyway. That man has impeccable timing.  
  
"I'll, uh, see you tomorrow."  
  
"Yeah, I'll see you."  
  
I just hope we can pick up with out the awkwardness. I've enjoyed hanging out with Hamilton. With having someone like him to hang out with maybe this summer session won't be such a drag. 


	2. The Kiss

The last few days have been a blast. I was so wrong about Hamilton. He's not an upper class snob at all. Yesterday he showed me a better place to stash my bike. I still think it would have been fine where it was, but the new place seems slightly more hidden. The time between classes we've spent talking about nothing and everything. In the afternoon Hamilton showed me a few spots that he likes to hang out with his camera. We scoped out some girls in bikinis by the lake, but I realized that what Hamilton really like about photographing is catching people in action, unaware and totally relaxed. He told me that was how he first saw me. Arriving on my bike. That's how he knew about it. Right now we're going to set up a leach on the satellite feed. OK, OK, I have to admit. Having "a connection high up" can pay off. I couldn't have done this without Hamilton "borrowing" his dad's keys. But after the other night it's not really just about connections any more. Well, not for me anyway. I've let Hamilton closer than I have anyone for the last 3 years. And that just in a couple of days. Now he rants on about communication between guys and girls. I have to contain myself not to start laughing. It's so funny. He can talk about anything and go on forever. All I have to do is listen.  
  
"The problem is, like there's total miscommunication between guys and girls. When a girl says, 'I really, really like you,' what she means is, 'I'm ready for a commitment, are you?' but when a guy says, 'I really, really like you,' what he means is, 'I wanna have sex with you.'"  
  
"Well, it sounds like you have a lot of experience in this area."  
  
"Hacking into this satellite feed is gonna be great. I mean it'll be like 20 times faster than 56K."  
  
While I set up the equipment, he picks up the tool-bag and slightly leans on it.  
  
"And, when a girl says, 'What are you doing this weekend?' what she means is, 'I want you to hang out with me instead of your friends,' but when a guy says, 'What are you doing this weekend?' what he means is, 'I wanna have sex with you.'  
  
I am done so I stand up leaning on the ledge, watching him as he rants on. With Hamilton leaning over the bag there's only a few inches between us.  
  
"And also when a girl says, 'I need to know where this relationship is going,' what she means is, 'I'm hopelessly in love and I pray that you are too,' but when a guy says, 'I need to know where this relationship is going,' what he means is."  
  
It's so obvious where he's going with this, so I can't help smile as I finish together with him;  
  
"I wanna have sex with you!"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Yeah, right"  
  
There are those blue eyes again. I don't even realize what I'm doing, as I close the few inches between us. The second my lips touch his, reality hits me like a punch in the face. I reel back.  
  
"Oh God, I'm sorry." I stumble a few steps, desperately trying to put a little distance between us. "I'm sorry." Oh, my God. I just kissed Hamilton. A Boy. The Deans son. "I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm sorry." As he takes a few steps towards me all I can do is turn on my heel and run. Get the hell out of here. Before he breaks my nose. Oh, my God, what have I done?  
  
\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/* \*/*\*/*\*/*\*/  
  
I lay on my bed, trying to get started on one of the books on Finns list. I've read about 20 pages, but I couldn't have told you what it's about. I couldn't even tell you what it's called. All I can think about is The Kiss. It lasted for less than a second, but still it is burnt into my brain. Permanently. Never to be forgotten. I like girls. I mean, I've never been obsessed, like some guys, but my sexual fantasies have always involved girls. I've even had a few extended makeout-sessions. So why can't I stop think about that kiss. And, oh God, those eyes.  
  
Just then, those eyes, and the body they're attached to, come barging through my door. I jump off the bed and meet him half way.  
  
"Listen, I wanna say."  
  
"That wasn't what you thought!"  
  
"I don't know where you're coming from but."  
  
"I can explain!"  
  
"No, don't explain. Let's just not even."  
  
"Talk about it!"  
  
"Yeah, let's just."  
  
"Forget about it!"  
  
"Yeah, let's do that."  
  
Having suddenly reach common ground, we can only stand there. And there they are again. Those eyes. I have to look down as I offer,  
  
"Friends?" My heart starts racing. I look up again as he looks down at my outstretched hand. Please, Hamilton, you don't know how much I need this. I don't want to change schools again. I want to be here and hang out with my buddy. It seems like forever before he finally accepts my hand.  
  
"Yeah, friends. No question. No question."  
  
As he looks op at me again my heart goes form racing a mile a minute to a dead stop. Can you have a heart attack at fifteen? Is there a tingling sensation in my left arm? No, the tingling is more all over my body. Suddenly we both realize that we're still shaking hands, and we both snap out of it. Hamilton gives my shoulder a punch, and points at me as he walks backwards towards the door.  
  
"You da man!"  
  
"Yup! Okay! I'm da man!" As he leaves I fall down on my bed. "Oh my God." Friends. Right. We can't even be near each other without me acting like a freak. Oh, well, it's not like it's the first time I've changed schools.  
  
But it's the first time I didn't want to. 


End file.
